Harp's Song
by nicayal
Summary: Axel wants his husband back. A young angel is desperately searching for his muse. Can different needs be satisfied by those whose destinies were never meant to entwine in the first place? AkuRoku angst/fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Take one creative writing prompt, plus an eleven hour transatlantic flight, minus six hours of sleep that I will never get back, times one original character and four years of undergraduate religious studies classes, and...you kind of get this odd little fluff-fest of an AkuRoku fic.

Here's the prompt I was working from: Write about a tangible, reach-out-and-touch-it muse. It can be written from the muse's perspective or the perspective of the person using the muse.

My main inspiration: What happens when an angelic being, created entirely for one purpose at which he's currently failing, encounters humanity, with all its glorious emotional dramas, and finds himself inadvertently sucked into one human's recent, life-shattering tragedy?

* * *

><p>The music was beautiful, unearthly in the most literal sense of the word.<p>

And wrong. Absolutely, entirely all wrong.

"Stop, stop," Conductor yelled over the melody of song, wings fluttering in clear agitation. Her conducting stick lowered, and with it so did the volume of the music, until it petered out completely only a moment later.

Hands on her hips, Conductor addressed her orchestra.

"Not right," she shouted, her voice ringing in piercing ways across the heavens. "You think this is ready for El? You think you can get away with a mediocre performance in front of the Holy of Holies? You're mistaken! He will not be impressed."

A fine layer of gold dust burst forth from her wings as each sentence was punctuated with increasing irritation. Near the back of the orchestra, one young angel noted how some of it landed in Conductor's two oddly spiked tresses of hair, giving her the appearance of having long glowing ears. He tried to look sufficiently contrite, while swallowing a quiet giggle.

"Time…so little time until Peter's next arrivals. Not enough time until El's address. And you're giving me _this_ to work with?" Conductor ranted on, although it was obvious several angels were no longer listening to her.

She paused in her tyrannical lecture, regarding her angelic orchestra with an air of expectation. When no one moved to do anything, her hands glided to her hips, wings bristling tightly behind her back.

"Well! Don't just sit there gawking. Go practice! Return tomorrow with something actually worth listening to."

It was their cue to disperse, and disperse they did, as quickly as possible. Conductor wasn't quite finished however.

"Fourteenth Viola and Thirteenth Harp," Conductor barked. "Remain behind. I want to speak to you both."

Surprised, the young angel's head shot up as his large string instrument faded in front of him. What did that mean, stay behind? What had he done?

Harp was nothing if not obedient though and, once done packing up, he approached Conductor. Originally known as Twelfth Cello herself, Conductor hadn't started off in her illustrious career in much more impressive of a place than Harp had now, if he remembered a conversation he'd once overhead between the sitars correctly. But she had found favor with the last conductor, and over eons had eventually been trained in several instruments, was later taught to instruct as she was still doing now. Harp doubted he'd ever possess skill enough even to advance among the harps at the rate he was going.

He was met by a dark-haired angel not much shorter than Harp himself. This was presumably Fourteenth Viola. She looked just about as miserable as Harp felt, her powder blue wings drooping dejectedly as they trailed behind her. At least Harp had had the presence of mind to keep his own wings rigidly at attention behind his shoulders.

They didn't speak to one another as they drew ever nearer to Conductor. There was nothing really to say, no way commiserating would make either of them feel any better.

Afterward, Harp would remember key words and exasperated expressions with clarity, despite attempts to block out the whole encounter. _Unacceptable. Disappointing. Not good enough._

There was also the threat. His pastel yellow wings wrapped themselves protectively around himself whenever he became lost in thought about that particular subject. Inadequate musicians were of no use in Heaven. Musicians who didn't live up to expectations were expelled. Where, Harp didn't know and had no wish to guess. He simply didn't want it to happen.

But his practices didn't improve. The harder he tried, the more he seemed to lose focus, to make silly mistakes even when he knew the pieces inside and out. Overall though, it was the _feel_ of his music that was displeasing Conductor. And that he had no idea how to fix.

~ o ~ o ~

The heavens were raining the day Harp was approached by Ninth Sitar. In Heaven, rain was felt underfoot, rather than from above. Whenever it rained, Harp preferred to rise slightly above the ground, expending just enough effort with his wings to keep his feet above the cloud coverings. He'd always preferred the warmth of light over the icy chill of rain. At least the sun didn't dampen his robes.

Ninth Sitar was just the opposite, seeming almost to relish the puddles that pooled in cloud dips beneath his feet. On this particularly rainy day, Sitar was looking quite pleased and cheery, which was more than Harp could say about his own mood.

"Thirteenth Harp, am I right?" Sitar addressed him in passing after one particularly horrible practice.

An angel with whom he didn't often converse, Sitar was older than Harp, more experienced in his chosen instrument by four chairs, and quite popular among the other musicians, from what little Harp had observed of their interactions before and after practice. Sitar had an easygoing demeanor about him, and despite Harp's current mood, he couldn't help but feel slightly uplifted by the unexpected attention.

Harp nodded, his expression respectful. "Yes," he confirmed.

Sitar grinned and beckoned Harp to follow. "Walk with me a bit, will you?"

Harp didn't have to be asked twice. Being created as a musician in Heaven could be a lonely existence if one was still relatively as new as he was. He was quick to comply, fluttering his smaller wings over to the location where Sitar was waiting for him.

Noting the boy's chosen method of transportation, Sitar raised an eyebrow good-naturedly. "Or fly if you like, but you're missing out on a lovely mid-summer storm right now."

For a moment, Harp felt uncertain. Should he drop into the clouds like Sitar instead of fluttering above him? Was this considered rude? "I don't…it's just," Harp tripped over his own words, much like he'd done over several of the more complicated chords during practice today. "I mean, rain isn't my favorite," he said, his voice an apology.

Sitar laughed, shaking his head a little. "That's obvious. Seems your strongest element is light," he said, nodding toward Harp's wings.

In comparison, Sitar's wings were a deep almost navy blue that stood in stark contrast to his dirty blond hair. Harp had never made the connection between wing coloring and preferred elements. He found himself lagging behind as he considered the notion.

"Anyway, keep up," Sitar said, not in an unfriendly manner. "I've got something I want to talk to you about."

There it was again. Harp felt himself immediately tense. Talks, in his experience, were never positive things. He only really got talked to when he'd done something wrong or played a song inadequately.

"And drop the 'woe is me' expression," Sitar almost sang. "You're acting like you're about to get crucified or something."

Unable to help himself, Harp giggled. Even he knew that joke. It'd been going around Heaven for millennia now. From what he heard, even the human it'd been instigated by found humor in it, after getting over the shock of his own death and subsequent promotion to messiah among some groups of humans. Yeshua was his name, if Harp remembered correctly. Death always seemed to take them awhile to come to terms with, from what little Harp knew. He'd never technically been born, would never actually die, so it was difficult to relate. Although the way things were going in orchestra practice lately, expulsion might be a viable option sooner than he'd like, he thought darkly.

"I hear you're having difficulties in practice," Sitar continued, as though reading Harp's mind. They stopped on a gentle incline, a place that offered Sitar the rain under underfoot that he seemed to so cherish and also a smaller, dry cloud ledge for Harp to perch on if he liked. He felt a bit babyish sitting in a traditional cherub position, but Harp was grateful to rest his wings and settled in nicely after a moment. He just wished he could avoid Sitar's comment as much as he could the rain-soaked cloud walkways underfoot.

"Conductor is unhappy with me," he admitted freely.

Sitar said nothing, simply waiting for him to continue.

"There are the chord mistakes sometimes, but I'm getting better at those," Harp said in a hopeful tone. "It's the _feel_ of my performance that she doesn't like."

"Ah, sure," Sitar nodded, expression full of understanding.

"But I don't even know what she _means_, to feel the music the way she wants. I thought I _was_ feeling the music just fine," Harp burst out. "Sometimes I close my eyes and everything." He'd seen plenty of nines and tens, and sometimes even eights, closing their eyes during practices from his vantage point. He couldn't see much higher up in ranks than that, but there was nothing to say the higher-ups didn't act similarly during performances.

This time when Sitar laughed, Harp felt like the butt of a joke he didn't even understand. Unconsciously, his wings drew closer to his body, giving him an even smaller appearance than he already had.

"Closing your eyes has nothing to do with anything unless you've begun to feel it first," Sitar said, making an attempt to calm his own laughter, his gently rippling wings and upturned lips betraying him nonetheless.

"Then what _does_?" Harp felt nearly desperate now. Why didn't he understand? Sitar seemed to be having no difficulty.

Sitar didn't answer for a moment, turning instead to look out onto Earth below them. Harp noted the dreamy expression in his eyes, but he could interpret it about as much as he could Conductor's instructions about feeling the music he was playing.

"A muse."

At first, Harp thought he might have misheard. At least he'd heard at all. Sitar's words had been nearly a whisper.

When Sitar didn't initially answer, Harp spoke again. "A what?"

The question seemed to return Sitar to the clouds, eyes refocusing and settling on the younger angel again. "A muse," he repeated. "You know…"

When Harp's blank expression remained, Sitar's wings ruffled a little, perhaps in surprise. Maybe in exasperation.

"Well, that's your problem," he said. "You don't know what a muse is, let alone have one. Not that Conductor improves of all the types of things we find for the purpose, but, well, she doesn't really need to know, does she?"

Harp sat up a little straighter, wings extending in a cat-like stretch eagerly above him. "Then tell me."

Sitar seemed only too happy to comply. Possibly a little amused too, if his expression was any indication. "A muse is like a stimulus for your creative work," he explained. "It can be anything, but it has to be personal to you exclusively. For some angels, El his glorious self can be enough. Others — perhaps you — need to find something more."

Harp said nothing, pondering the idea a little. It was entirely unique to him, to use a physical object for inspiration. He'd always just read the music as it was given to him, and practiced diligently. Shouldn't that have been enough? The young angel unquestioningly glorified El in his mind, but never having met Creator himself, perhaps Sitar was on to something.

A thought occurred to him. "What's your muse, Sitar?" he asked, curiosity clear in his youthful tone.

Much to Harp's surprise, the older angel's cheeks colored in response. He'd never seen anything like it before outside of cherubs and their naturally rosy expressions.

"I'm sorry. Is it a problem?" He truly hadn't meant to cause Sitar negative emotions of any sort, if that's what he'd done.

Sitar just shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "Not a problem." His voice was wistful, filled with patent longing.

"It's a human…"


	2. Chapter 2

Harp and Sitar met several times again to discuss all manner of things. Most were music related. Many were filled with words about muse.

The more Sitar mentioned it, the more fascinated Harp became with the idea of finding his own muse. He also learned quite a bit about the human Sitar called his own muse.

Zexion was his name and he was young even by human standards. Or perhaps Harp was getting them confused with angel years. It was difficult to know. Nevertheless, only possessing 20 of anything seemed rather lacking. Even cherubs had more history behind them, which made humans strange creatures indeed in Harp's eyes.

Yet whenever Sitar spoke of him, this Zexion, a noticeable change came over him. Harp couldn't say what it was, or how it affected Sitar's ability to play music, or even _feel_ it for that matter. Nevertheless, the change was obvious to Harp, whatever it happened to be. He often wondered how he would ever experience something similar.

One day, Harp simply asked.

They were supposed to be practicing, and technically Sitar was. Harp had hit a wall though and, frustrated, he'd allowed his instrument to fade, hoping a short reprieve might give him a second wind.

"Sitar," he said, perched comfortably on another cloud overhang as the lankier angel lounged beneath him, "you've told me a lot about what your muse is like, what you find intriguing and beneficial for your music through him."

Strumming his own instrument idly as he watched Harp above him, Sitar nodded. Indeed he had.

Harp's brow furrowed. "But how do you access your muse from all the way up here?"

The volume of Sitar's instrument increased ever so slightly, the ascending crescendo mirroring Harp's own rising hopes on the matter. "Simple," he replied, looking down at his current medium still attentively.

Harp leaned forward, eager to hear every word. Sitar offered him only four.

"You go to Earth."

~ o ~ o ~

This is how the angel Harp made his first trip to Earth and walked among humans.

Sitar had said it'd be easy. If something spoke to Harp as it had him, instinct would guide him right to it. That would simply be the end of it. Or the beginning, technically.

Yet all the sights and sounds of a living planet initially overwhelmed Harp, and he found himself cowering behind corners and flinching whenever someone spoke loudly anywhere near his general vicinity. It took some time before he realized humans couldn't see him, their senses dulled to the supernatural thanks to the over-stimulation of their own man-made technologies.

Animals noticed his presence sometimes, although even then Harp couldn't claim that they truly saw him. Sensed was perhaps a better word for it. Often, in passing, a dog would lift its head, or a cat would follow him with glowing yellow eyes, always unfocused, always sniffing to identify the unusual presence who made no sound, who left no noticeable mark on the ground he traversed.

Harp could not say how long he explored Earth, for Earth time is different than that which passes in Heaven. All he could say for certain was that he had not missed a practice, for he would have felt Conductor's wrath almost immediately. Of that he was sure.

Then one day, he heard it, all other sounds dulling as the point of his interest intensified. The sound was choking, was a breathless sob that made Harp's own small chest ache unpleasantly. It was this sound that propelled him forward.

It led him to the living room of a small apartment. Harp had never before entered the dwelling place of a human, but he didn't hesitate even a moment. All doors are open to angels, all paths are made clear by El. Harp slipped in effortlessly through one of the walls.

It was night when he arrived, and the room was dark. Harp had little reason to need artificial illumination however; his own yellow aura lit up the room with clarity. And there in the midst of an ordinary human living space, Harp was surrounded by blue, blue eyes. Blue eyes and a flash of red.

Intrigued, he moved forward, to the mantle above a small fireplace. Nearby, a grey tabby cat looked up, ears alert and eyes searching.

There, in a multitude of frames, Harp saw…_himself_.

He blinked, confused, inching closer to take a better look. An older version of someone who looked very much like Harp stared back at him, always smiling widely, or at least using his eyes to communicate good humor.

The figure's eyes were what helped to ground the young musician. If not for them, Harp may have been spooked straight out of that home, straight off of Earth itself. This figure, as identical as he looked to Harp, had very vividly blue eyes.

Harp's eyes were gold. Not hazel that picked up specks of yellow light in the sun, but pure, unblemished gold, a bright unearthly yellow that even his wings paled in comparison to.

A shuffling sound broke his attention before he had the opportunity to really scrutinize the pictures and the red-haired figure his human doppelgänger was more often than not standing beside. And then, a crash, glass shattering onto tiled floor. Alarmed, Harp alighted, fluttering nervously near the top back wall of the apartment, measuring his decision to flee back home on a constantly changing basis. The cat below him fluffed its tail in fright before scrambling under a nearby chair.

A low sobbing sound filled his ears, forcing him back down to the apartment's floor to investigate. Harp might not have been brave, but he knew when he was being called, somehow, from a deeply unfamiliar part of his being. That call could not be ignored, usually by humans but most certainly by angels without free will of their own to drive their decisions.

With considerable caution, he made his way into the next room.

The sobs grew louder and the pain in his chest more pronounced as a result, until Harp found himself wanting to mimic the sound, desperate to rid himself of a feeling of loss he couldn't remotely begin to understand.

Tile and broken glass met his eyes in the next room. And there before him stood an impossibly tall red-haired man.

Harp's breath caught in his throat as he heard the man keening, observed elbows propped up against the bathroom sink, bright green eyes swollen around the edges, an odd wetness streaked down his gaunt face. The angel had never seen tears before, had never experienced sadness on anything more than the most superficial of levels. Now he felt it all too well, and it was overwhelming in its intensity.

"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

The man's words seemed to rip Harp apart, piece by excruciating piece, although he had no idea what someone so perfect could possibly be sorry for. Angels were made in El's likeness. So were humans, albeit imperfectly so, he had always been told.

But there was nothing defective about this one, he decided. Pale skin, green eyes, red hair. Could humans be called beautiful? This one could, Harp decided.

And more than anything, he didn't want this one to hurt.

Without truly thinking, Harp approached, arm reaching tentatively out toward the human, the perfect human who shouldn't have been hurting at any cost. Shimmering fingers brushed against the red-head's warm, trembling shoulder, leaving a trail of softly glowing dust in their wake.

In that moment, Harp thought he might shatter. Feelings beyond any he had ever known assaulted his mind. Images he couldn't possibly hope to understand flashed in front of his eyes. And all the while, blue eyes, blue eyes.

The sensations were so overwhelming to the young angel, it took him a moment to realize the human's trembling had stopped.

He looked up to see incredulous green eyes returning his gaze through the mirror in front of them both. Mouth slightly ajar, Harp could feel the man's shock almost as starkly as he'd felt his pain moments before. But there was something else inching its way outward, and it was an emotion Harp had no difficulties identifying.

Hope.

"Roxas?" The man's question hit him harder than he'd ever imagined an unfamiliar word really could. Startled, Harp drew his hand back, away from the human. Just as quickly, his mirrored reflection began to shimmer gold, matching his eyes in intensity for only a moment, before he dissolved entirely.

The human called out, begging him to wait, and Harp wanted to reply. Pulling into himself so completely however, he couldn't do anything as he felt the rush of his own wings carrying him back to Heaven, back to the safety of his clouds and his own familiar kind, a kind that never changed, that rarely wavered in the purpose for which they had been created.

Among the clouds safe at home, Harp found he still couldn't shake the momentous feeling he'd experienced though. What had it all meant? Why was there so much hurt?

Wrapping his wings around himself protectively, it was now Harp's turn to tremble.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're improving, I see."

Harp looked down at the sound of the voice. "Still avoiding the rain too." Sitar was smiling, hands on his hips over his plain white robe.

Harp returned his smile and shrugged slightly. "Yeah. That won't change, I expect."

Sitar rolled his eyes a bit, his own instrument appearing between his open hands on cue. "If I can't expect you to come down here, may I join you up there?"

Harp nodded. "Of course." Scooting to one side of the cloud ledge, he made room for Sitar, who spared little time opening his own expansive wings behind him. Three strong beats of his feathered appendages and Sitar was finding a comfortable position, crossing his legs near the ledge's drop-off.

"You found it then, your muse," he commented. "That much is obvious from what I just heard."

Harp nodded, his expression turning pensive. "I think so, yes."

"Good," Sitar returned. "You're starting to grow on me. It'd have been a shame if Conductor got you expelled."

"Yeah…" Harp trailed off, biting his lip a little in thought. Between his own legs, the harp he was playing began to flicker as he lost focus on it. Sitar's was completely solid, on the other hand. The older angel's fingers were flexing over it experimentally, as though considering a choice of chords.

"Sitar," Harp said, his voice upturned in a question. "Is…is your muse Zexion sad very often?"

Sitar looked up, an eyebrow raised. "Not particularly, to my knowledge," he said. "I'd say he's more academic than anything." There was a pause, as he chuckled a little, reaching to run his fingers through his dirty blond hair.

"He's a pretty boring human, actually."

That didn't explain why he was important enough to be Sitar's muse, but the younger angel wasn't thinking along those lines at the moment. Instead, Harp's wings drooped a little. "Oh."

"Why?" The navy winged angel's eyebrow rose again like a wave against his forehead.

Instrument now completely gone, Harp re-situated himself onto his back, propped up by his elbows. "The human I encountered is very sad," Harp said simply, unsure how to elaborate. "His eyes watered and I could feel it in my chest."

"Tears," Sitar corrected almost automatically. "He must've been crying."

"Tears," Harp echoed.

"Humans cry for many reasons. A lot of times they're sad, but they can do it when they're really happy too."

"That's confusing," Harp said, his expression utterly bewildered. "How do they tell the difference when they don't feel one another like we can?"

Sitar shrugged a little. "Context, usually. If they've just had their arm cut off, for example, they're probably sad or some equivalent closer to it than happiness. There's also this delightful habit they have, called cursing. It can be quite comical."

"Sounds hilarious," Harp returned, allowing himself to drop fully into the cloud's cushioning floor.

"Oh ho! Who's learning sarcasm? I'm a good teacher." Sitar grinned and began to strum his instrument in upbeat tones.

Harp didn't respond immediately. His thoughts were elsewhere, on red hair and green eyes. For a time, he simply listened to Sitar's song, allowing the contented melody to wash over him.

He wanted to see the human again, but what was strange was he also wanted to talk to him. Maybe. At the very least, he wanted to look at more of those images of him and the blond-haired blue-eyed lookalike.

"I might be promoted to Eighth chair soon," Sitar said thoughtfully. "Second's considering retiring, I've heard."

Harp sat up a little at that. Without extreme talent, angels infrequently moved up chairs. Retirement was also a rare occurrence but when it did happen, it was usually first or second chairs who did it, those who'd held the position for eons and had either been asked to play in El's residence personally or simply had found another interest to pursue. The higher chairs had the privilege sometimes to choose. Harp certainly didn't.

"It will be strange not to call you Ninth anymore," Harp blurted before he'd had a time to think about it. Inwardly, he cringed at his rudeness. He should've been congratulating his fellow musician, not nitpicking over insignificant details such as chair numbers.

Sitar didn't seem to take Harp's comments poorly though. "Yeah," he said, the melody on his instrument turning considerably more mellow. "It'll be strange to give it up. Nine's always had a nice sound to me."

"I think I need to go back. To Earth, I mean," Harp said suddenly, back straight, wings rigid. "I think I need to learn more."

Any other higher ranking angel might have rebuked him for not showing proper respect. Sitar simply continued playing his instrument quietly, almost as background music as he regarded the little blond angel next to him.

"Then go," he said. "And learn more. And keep feeling. Don't think I didn't hear about Conductor's probation requirements for you and that other one. Solos aren't easy. Make sure you're thinking of him when you play."

Harp only half heard his friend, nodding distractedly. His thoughts were already back on Earth, this time on blue eyes and broken glass.

~ o ~ o ~

Harp discovered many things on his next visit to Earth. For one, the red-haired man's name was Axel and Axel was a lawyer. Harp also learned that lawyers were humans who used big words when simpler ones would generally suffice. And they enjoyed drinking a variety of colored liquids among others of their kind until they could hardly stand up and walk a straight line.

Harp learned that Axel was a lawyer who preferred to drink alone.

He had also surmised that Roxas was the blond human depicted in many of the photographs throughout Axel's home, and after about the fourth or fifth drink on any given night, the pictures would get roughly shoved face down. By the sixth or seventh, Axel would begin to speak to Roxas, sometimes coherently, other times not nearly as much.

Harp did not dare to reach out and touch the red-head again, not even when the water welled up in his sharp green eyes and began to overflow in thick wet streams down his cheeks.

It was one of these nights on the sixth or seventh drink that Axel stood, shakily, and made his way back to the bathroom. Harp dutifully followed.

"Roxas?" The name was becoming familiar now to Harp, so much so that he hardly paid it any mind. Stumbling over to the bathroom was a different move on Axel's part though.

"Roxas," Axel said again, slurring the name softly and eyes scanning the room before coming to rest on the mirror in front of him. "Are you there?"

Harp froze at the words, the feathers in his wings prickling a little. Axel was asking about him, whether he actually knew it or not. Should he… could he do it again, make Axel see him?

A moment later, a terrible sound shattered the quiet in the apartment. Although he knew it was unlikely he could be hurt, Harp cried out, his wings closing shut around him as he dropped to his knees, only brave enough to peek out when he heard the shuffling sounds of feet moving glass around the tile floor.

Axel was pacing, holding a bleeding hand in his other, which remained unblemished. He stopped for a moment, staring at where the mirror had been, then down to the shards on the floor, then back again. "Roxas," he repeated again, his expression going hard.

"I know I saw you," he said, his voice rising steadily, words still strung together clumsily from the alcohol. "Where the hell are you now? Where the fuck did you go?"

Harp was trembling again, terrified at the sudden change in Axel's demeanor. How could one go from such calm to so destructive in such a little span of time? Maybe he should have reached out now, but he was too scared. He'd never seen anything like this in his entire existence.

As though all the energy had been sucked right out of him, Axel sank to the floor then, not too terribly far from where Harp was currently huddled, unmindful of the glass cutting into his bare knees.

"Why did you leave me here alone?"

His expression was anguished, but this time there seemed to be no more tears left to shed.

"Why couldn't it have been me? Or us together…"

Harp's wings shuddered, not wanting to open any further. He didn't understand what Axel was talking about. Had Roxas gone on a trip like he had taken when he'd journeyed to Earth? And why wouldn't he have returned if it made Axel act so desperate like this not to be with him?

He felt himself bristle a little at the inconsiderate actions of a human he had never met. If it'd been _him_…just, never.

But Harp wasn't human and he knew it. Harp was a heavenly musician, nothing more. He didn't have the luxury of choosing someone to spend his days with, or even picking a specific profession. His existence had been written in the stars for millennia. There was no free will for angels. Only obedience. And enduring existence.

Without even realizing he'd summoned it, his harp began materializing within his grip on Axel's bathroom floor. At first, the blond looked at it, dumbstruck. Just what was he supposed to do with an angelic instrument here on Earth where no one could hear it?

If there was one thing Harp knew how to do though, it was play music, and that's exactly what he found himself doing at two in the morning, amidst the broken glass on the bathroom floor. In Axel's home on Earth.

The first song he thought of was sad and immediately he pushed the urge to play it aside. He didn't want to play something that would only make him feel worse about what he'd just witnessed. Instead, he copied a variant of the first song he'd heard Sitar play during their last meeting, one that implied happiness and contentment.

Harp didn't know all of the chords, wasn't sure if his instrument could even play something designed for a sitar. He improvised as he went, keeping the melody light-hearted throughout. Thinking back to his first and only meeting with Axel as well, Harp strove to infuse the song with another emotion: hope.

Strangely enough, the piece seemed to be having an identical effect on Axel as it did on Harp, even though the angel knew there was no way he could hear it. Although they were a few mere arm-lengths away from one another, nothing could possibly have separated them any further than the simple truth of the circumstances of both their existences.

His song was soon over, and as Harp strummed the closing few notes, Axel stood as if on cue, walking heavily out of the bathroom and toward the kitchen. Harp's instrument disappeared almost immediately as he leapt up to follow the man. He watched as Axel ran water over his injured arm, wrapped it in a bandage from his hallway closet, and cleaned up the shallow cuts on his scraped knees.

There was a quiet peace about the human that Harp hadn't seen yet this evening, even though his movements were somewhat automatic, and very clearly laden with exhaustion. Once cleaned up, Axel dragged himself to the back room where he slept. Harp followed closely behind but lingered at the doorway almost shyly as he watched the human crawl into bed and curl his knees into his stomach, perhaps as a form of comfort, he thought, like what he did with his wings.

Harp felt a mixture of sickness and absolute exhilaration at what he'd just experienced, neither of which he could fully explain. Instead, he simply leaned against the doorframe, listening as Axel's breathing slowly began to deepen, indicating sleep.

"I'm sorry too," the angel said, echoing the red head's words from the night of his first visit. "I wish I could stay…"

He was already dissolving though, wings outstretched, ready to take flight. And, no matter how sorry Harp was that he couldn't do anything more, Axel would never know how he felt.

Perhaps that had been the harshest thing Harp had learned so far.


	4. Chapter 4

Glossary of referenced terms:

1) Adoni (Biblical Hebrew, noun, first person singular possessive suffix): Literally, "my lord". In Modern Hebrew, most just translate it to "sir".

2) Adon (Biblical Hebrew, noun): Literally, "lord". Modern Hebrew, "sir".

3) Castrati (Italian): Usually a boy who's been castrated before puberty in order to retain a soprano pitch more typical of a female singer. They were seriously popular from about the 1500s until the end of the 19th century. Catholicism banned the practice around that time and it's not done anymore, to my knowledge.

* * *

><p>The day of Harp's solo dawned bright and clear on his side of Heaven. Harp hardly noticed since he was too preoccupied with being terrified. Conductor wasn't exactly the most forgiving of angels. And it still remained to be seen whether he could channel what he felt around Axel in front of someone far more scrutinizing. For Harp, it was far easier to play for an audience that couldn't hear him.<p>

First he had to wait though, as he'd arrived early.

The female angel who'd been called out with Harp was present as well, powder blue wings shaking with apparent nerves.

"I'm going to get expelled," she squeaked, clasping her hands together nervously.

_Me too_, Harp thought but didn't voice it. There was no point in stating the obvious, or in making his fellow musician feel any worse.

"I've been practicing so hard," she continued, apparently needing to talk more than she needed to hear a response. "I don't sleep, rarely eat. All I've been doing is practicing, and I'm still doing it wrong. I don't understand 'feel'. Do you? Do you know what she wants from us?" Not at all mindful of the short bob of dark hair that was falling into her eyes, Fourteenth Viola's voice began to rise in desperation.

Harp wasn't unsympathetic. It was a harsh blow when you were created for the sole purpose of producing beautiful music and were told you were failing to do just that.

"Have you tried to imagine something that makes you extraordinarily happy or sad while you're playing?" he asked.

The confused look on Viola's face gave him his answer. Harp leaned closer to her, oblivious to the color rising into her cheeks at his proximity.

"It doesn't have to be just those emotions. It can be anything that makes you feel something strongly," Harp said, pressing a hand to his chest to emphasize. "And it can be anything: a thought or memory, or even something tangible like an object or another person."

"A person," Viola echoed, cheeks still flushed as she looked at Harp. She dropped her gaze a moment later.

Sitting up straighter on the bench they were sharing, Harp nodded. "Just think about it when you play. It really helps."

The tiny viola player looked at him with an expression Harp didn't understand. "And it can be anyone?" she asked.

A stately angel entered the open room in which they were waiting before Harp could respond, a small scroll in his hand seemingly taking up so much of his attention that he didn't look at either musician when he spoke. "Thirteenth Harp may enter now."

Eyes still on Viola, Harp caught her gaze and nodded. "Anyone," he confirmed. Without further hesitation, he stood and followed the taller angel out of the room, down a hall, and into Conductor's private music studio.

Harp hadn't expected there to be more than one person present during this evaluation. Instead, there were three: Conductor, as prim and imposing as ever, and two male angels. The silvery white haired one Harp recognized as the head of El's personal choir. His hair was a stark contrast to wings that were such an ambiguously dark shade Harp couldn't honestly tell if they were brown or pure raven black. Either way, they were stunning. The third angel was tall, blond and imposing, though not someone Harp recognized.

Apart from those rushed preliminary observations, Harp didn't have time to form any other opinions. The moment the angel who had led him into the studio departed, Conductor was on her feet and approaching him, wings rigid, expression tight.

"We have visitors from El's residence," she said, speaking quietly as she nudged Harp forward toward a chair. Her tone was filled with tension and an unspoken but clearly implied warning: _do not mess this up; do not embarrass me_.

She raised her voice to the visitors almost immediately. "This is my thirteenth harp," she said without preamble. It was the only introductory words Harp would receive, for he hadn't been blessed with a name like some of the more important angels. If both of the angels present hailed from within El's personal living quarters, names were probably one of the most basic privileges they possessed.

The blond haired angel nodded, but the choir director didn't so much as acknowledge Harp's presence beyond simply looking at him in a scrutinizing manner.

Conductor wasted no time. "Sit," she said, her voice commanding. "And, when you're ready, play. I'll signal if I want you to stop early."

With an increasing feeling of dread, Harp nodded and took the seat offered to him. He took one shuddering breath in, then willed his instrument into existence, clutching the smooth angel-made material at its base like a lifeline as he positioned it for comfort, preparing to play.

He'd almost begun before thinking anything through but in the last moment caught himself. All three sets of eyes were on him, but Harp did his best to block them out. This time when he closed his eyes, he searched for his human, his Axel. The image of the man dropping to the floor amid broken glass, clutching his bleeding hand, looking entirely broken, appeared in Harp's mind. Involuntarily, a shudder rippled through his body, up his spine and into his feathers, ruffling them a little. It was not a scene he really ever wanted to see again.

As he exhaled, Harp pushed the thought aside and began to play. It was a low, anguished melody, hinting at emotions he still didn't fully understand himself. It spoke of confusion and anger, and senses slowed from drink number seven. In this instance, Harp didn't think through his melody; he simply played it as the scene came to him, from start to finish. Midway through, the volume of his instrument hit a crescendo as shards of mirror shattered onto the bathroom floor. His ending notes faded out, the song not entirely finished, implying an intermission rather than a completed composition. If Conductor had signaled him to stop at some point throughout his performance, Harp had been oblivious to it.

When he opened his eyes and looked up, all three angels were staring at him with expressions Harp couldn't read, although the choir director was quickest to return to impassive indifference. Gently, Harp angled his instrument's feet so it could stand on its own again, not allowing it to fade in case he was asked to play something else. His chest felt twisted, pained, but it was now from the images he'd just conjured rather than nerves related to performing.

"You said this was your _thirteenth_ chair harp, Conductor?" the blond haired man inquired, his tone sounding somewhat amused.

It seemed to take Conductor a moment to compose herself. "Yes, adoni. The thirteenth," she said finally.

_Adoni_. Harp swallowed hard. Very few angels were allowed the title of 'lord', so close in sound to a variant of El's own name. Not even the choir director who was well-respected and feared by many could boast such a title.

Speaking of the choir director, he was still looking Harp's way with scrutiny, as though considering something. A moment later he turned, speaking to Conductor in low tones that were inaudible to Harp. Conductor looked a bit put-off, confusion entering her expression, but nodded, and called in her assistant who arrived promptly, scroll still poised as though he was expecting to copy down her orders and preserve them in perpetuity.

"Summon the angel Sorael," Conductor said. "You will find him in the singers' quarters."

With a curt nod, the attendant was gone, leaving Harp to sit awkwardly in front of his three superiors.

It was the blond who spoke first. "That was a unique piece, harpist. Is it an original composition?"

Nodding, Harp's fingers brushed over the strings of his instrument with familiar affection. "Yes, sir. …Adon," he amended, remembering how Conductor had addressed the senior angel. He glanced between the two males, then quickly back to the one who had addressed him. The choir director's expression was hard, almost painful to gaze upon for very long.

"You were told you were not playing with enough feeling, which is what necessitated this evaluation," the blond angel continued, expression contemplative. "How do you think you fared today?"

In all honesty, Harp didn't know. The reminder that he was being evaluated for possible expulsion made his stomach turn again though.

"I…" _What_, Harp wondered. How did he think he had done? "I think I truly felt. Whether it was expressed adequately in my piece is not my right to say," he answered honestly.

A knock on the studio door announced the attendant's return.

"The angel Sorael for you, Conductor," he announced before again departing, leaving an impossibly petit angel in his stead. If Harp hadn't known better, he would have assumed the boy was a cherub.

Harp also couldn't help but stare. Apart from darker hair and deep blue eyes the color of Earth's lovely oceans, the new arrival looked…

"He looks just like me," Harp blurted before he could stop himself.

All four angels turned to regard him, Sorael with a look of completely naïve bewilderment, the others with an air of amusement.

"Yes," the blond lord spoke again, "angelic appearances are often modeled after those El finds most pleasing."

This made sense to Harp, although the idea had never before occurred to him.

"Sometimes this applies even to humans as well," the angel continued, "although, of course, more care is taken to ensure they also look similar to the ones who have birthed them."

This would explain the similarities between Harp's appearance and the human Roxas, he supposed. The amount of knowledge he did not possess was sometimes overwhelming.

Harp's eyes drifted back to the one called Sorael. El's Sky. The more he looked, the easier it was for Harp to ascertain minute differences between the choir angel and himself. And, if Sitar had been accurate about how elements related to wing colors, Harp would have bet his own left wing that Sorael's element was wind. His wings were of slight off-white coloring, but entirely translucent, making them disappear and reappear depending on Sorael's own subtle movements. In short, they were lovely.

Before Harp could consider the fascinating ideas he'd just been presented with, the angel with hair of silvery white stood and approached Sorael, putting a protective — almost loving — hand on the smaller angel's shoulder.

"Harpist, this is Sorael. He is one of El's most coveted singers, praised for his range and high pitch."

Harp nodded, but didn't speak. Although he knew angelic appearances related very little to actual ages, he couldn't help but notice how young Sorael looked, as though he'd been fashioned by the Creator's own hands recently, still new to their world. The wide-eyed innocent expression certainly wasn't helping him believe otherwise either.

Indifferent to his private thoughts, the choir director continued. "Humans too used to value ranges like Sorael's. Castrati, they were called." A derisive smirk began to form on the angel's exotic features. "Unlike their kind, however, we do not need to resort to physically maiming our singers to produce the same desired effect."

Yes. That much Harp knew. Creator could fashion an angel to his liking and personal tastes, even imbue them with general talents to cultivate like he had with Harp's musical abilities.

Harp also realized that far more of these menial, singly talented angels like himself were created than still actually existed in Heaven. Those whose talents did not develop in the desired way were expelled. It was perhaps why he and Fourteenth Viola had such a healthy fear of not performing up to expectations. No one truly knew what expulsion entailed, for the expelled never returned to Heaven to tell their stories or explain where they'd been sent.

The choir director's voice broke him out of this thoughts. "You will play that song again," he said. "And Sorael will sing an accompaniment to it."

Harp blinked, not completely comprehending at first why he would be asked to do such a thing. Were they considering transferring him to the choir division? He'd never heard of anything like that happening, for the singers sang without instrumental supplements. But before he knew what was happening, Harp found himself explaining the general range of chords he'd made use of to play his piece, answering Sorael's questions as they were posed to him.

And then Harp was playing again, and Sorael was singing with him, in an unearthly, beautiful tone at least an octave above his own instrument's range. The words were unfamiliar to Harp, sung in the ancient language of Heaven now used only in liturgy and historical records. Harp had never been taught the language, having had no use for it as a simple musician himself.

True to the choir director's boasts, Sorael's voice was precise, pure, and uncommonly child-like. The emotions put behind his vocals were anything but childish though, and by the time Harp was playing the rising section of glass breaking, he feared he himself might shatter all over again as the favored angel beside him broke out into an anguished, high note at just the right moment.

It was macabre, but perfect. Sorael's voice matched Harp's chords perfectly, lingering only two notes longer than the last faded sounds of Harp's own instrument.

For a time, the room was silent. Then, as if by some unspoken signal, the senior angels stood in unison. "Thank you, harpist. You may take your leave for the time being," Conductor said. Her words were still curt, but Harp noted another type of expression lingering behind her normally severe features.

He wanted an explanation. He wanted someone to tell him whether he was going to be expelled or not. But Harp knew better than to ask. It wasn't his place.

Conductor followed him to the door, her hand resting on his lower back in an almost maternal way as she ushered him out. "Practice is at mid-day tomorrow, sharp," she said, as though he needed a reminder.

Harp nodded. How could he forget? His entire existence revolved around practices. And Axel now too, although that was not something he thought he could admit to his superior.

He was almost through the double doors when Conductor's voice rang out again, this time more softly. "And Harp, try to practice something happier in the meantime, will you?"

Before he could respond, the doors were closed, and the blond angel found himself alone in the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next few weeks in human time, Harp visited Axel on several occasions. During the daytime visits, he'd follow the human to work and through his daily routine. In the evenings, he'd play songs in Axel's apartment. Although Harp didn't truly think Axel could hear him, the human's demeanor seemed to change in quite a visible way after Harp played. It was enough motivation for him to continue playing night after night.

Harp also began to notice more subtle things about the human he was following. Axel's uneven gait, for example, remained with him even when he wasn't drinking, and Harp came to understand why he often used what looked like a straight, smooth stick of wood for assistance. It was also obvious that Axel was a good actor, able to portray a confident face during the day at his job and around other people. At home, he was more somber, more in need of company, in Harp's opinion.

Still, all Harp could do was play his instrument. Play music and hope.

And much like Axel spoke to Roxas in the dead of night, Harp had begun speaking to Axel as he followed him from room to room. It was nothing profound, for Harp's life in Heaven was really rather mundane and uninteresting. Harp spoke about Sitar and his practices and personal compositions. He talked about his apprehensions and frustrations with learning new, more difficult pieces as Peter's welcoming ceremony steadily approached. More and more it was about Harp's increasingly frequent meetings with Sorael.

"He's really quite nice, Sorael," Harp had said once, as Axel kindled a piece of wood in his fireplace to keep out the draft from a steady flow of snow outside his window one winter evening. "I always imagined named angels would be different somehow, or at least act more…aloof, maybe?"

Nearby, the household cat pricked up her ears at Harp's voice, but it was Axel she went to when the man crossed the room and got himself comfortable in an oversized leather chair.

"Some are, I think," Harp continued. "Just not Sorael. He's sweet but serious about his position, and not much older than me, I've discovered."

In his chair, Axel turned, grabbed a magazine off a nearby side table, and began to flip through pages. The cat that Harp had learned was named Luna jumped onto the back of the chair and circled once, twice, before curling up at the nape of Axel's neck.

True to habit, Harp arranged himself nearby as well and began to play a calming, comforting song.

"He hasn't outright said it, of course, but I suspect he has a muse as well," Harp said, keeping his voice low and soothing to match the tone of his melody. "Just like I have you."

The last part elicited a bit of a blush on his part. Harp knew it was silly, knew Axel couldn't hear him. His body didn't seem to care though.

"And," he forged onward, the notes of his chosen song swelling in a gentle climax, "I think it might be the choir director, Rikuel."

Harp could not understand it, for Heaven's choir director seemed a harsh, unforgiving creature to him. If he had remained in Heaven, having never visited Earth at all, Harp suspected he might have left his pondering there, concluding that it was simply not something he could comprehend. But his experiences and observations with Axel had shown him quite clearly how people were capable of acting differently depending on the company they kept. Perhaps the choir director acted differently around Sorael than he did publicly in front of other angels.

"At any rate, I will perform with Sorael at St. Peter's welcoming ceremony tomorrow," Harp said. In his seat, Axel inhaled, visibly beginning to relax. Harp looked up and smiled. He loved seeing his human — his Axel — content, if not entirely happy. What he couldn't do for his body, Harp could at least hope to achieve for his soul. He continued talking, his voice sweet and sing-song as he played.

"Every angelic year — sorry, I'm not sure how that translates into your time," he interjected his own explanation, smiling apologetically. "But every angelic year St. Peter welcomes in the souls of humans who've left your world. And every year our orchestra plays music to welcome them. It's quite nice."

Axel placed his reading material aside as his eyes began to droop, then shut, his posture almost completely relaxed in his chair.

For a time, Harp was content to play quiet chords on his instrument, listening to Axel's steady breathing as the human slept before him. After awhile, Harp spoke again though, giving voice to the thoughts he'd been having since his evaluation.

"It's quite unconventional for an angel to play a duet with a member of El's choir," Harp said, his expression thoughtful. "In fact, I don't think it's ever been done befo—"

A soft sound emitted from Axel's mouth, almost but not quite a whimper. Harp stopped mid-sentence, watching his human, his muse, with a protective gaze.

Luna twitched her tail, brushing it briefly across Axel's cheek, but the red haired man didn't awaken. Jaw clenching and unclenching in sleep, Harp could see the tension in Axel's unconscious expression. His own features turned immediately sympathetic. He didn't truly understand dreams, but sometimes he'd heard Sorael sing about them. They were unique to humans and other living Earth-things. For Harp, the idea of traveling to an imaginary world while unconscious was a fascinating concept. He didn't need to sleep, although sometimes he did anyway to pass the time back home, and to create routine. It happened often enough when he was enjoying sunny days in Heaven. But dreaming? Never.

It didn't look enjoyable for Axel though, and Harp's music seemed no longer to be having much of an effect. With his entire focus on Axel's pained expression, Harp's instrument faded from between his knees.

He stood carefully, pulling the silvery ends of his robe up at the waist as he rose, before releasing them and slowly approaching the sleeping figure with caution. Axel's cat perked her ears up, staring at Harp with unseeing eyes. By now, Harp wasn't spooked, understood that animals could often sense things humans could not, even if they couldn't see him in a traditional way.

"Axel?" Harp spoke quietly out of habit, although it hardly mattered. Asleep or awake, Axel couldn't hear him and Harp knew it.

He yearned to reach out, to calm the gently twitching movements that spoke of so much emotional pain Harp couldn't hope to fully understand. Slowly, he inched closer to the sleeping man, kneeling down before him, close to one bent knee and a long, slender hand.

"Peace, Axel." It was a soft plea that would go unheard along all his other words.

Tears were welling up in beneath closed green eyes, slowly trickling down the human's sharp features as another quiet, pained sound emitted from the back of his throat.

If a human could bring about the death of an angel, Harp was convinced he was slowly dying now, watching the terrible, heart-breaking expressions his human was making with no hope of being able to help him in the slightest.

Without thinking, Harp raised himself to a standing position, bent down and wrapped his thin, translucent arms around Axel, yellow wings fluttering above them both like a protective shade.

That's when Harp felt the jolt.


	6. Chapter 6

_Falling. He was falling, and for a creature with wings it was the most disconcertingly unfamiliar thing Harp had ever experienced._

_And then there were oncoming lights, blinding in their brightness in a way not even the sun had ever been for Harp. Then pain, excruciating pain. A familiar human voice screamed, and then nothing. Blissful, needed nothing._

Harp opened his eyes to the artificial lighting of a school classroom. He was at the front of the room near a chair and table. Facing him, human students were packing up their laptops, their textbooks, and note-taking supplies. Harp looked down at his own messenger bag, and began to organize his own teaching notes.

"Excuse me, Professor Renault?"

Harp looked up. And up and up, into green eyes and bright, spiked red hair. _Axel_, Harp thought, as the person whose body he was inhabiting simultaneously thought a different world entirely: _hot_.

Harp scrunched up his nose into an expression of distaste. "Roxas, please. I'm just a grad student."

Those alluring green eyes seemed to glint as the young man smiled at him. "Okay. Roxas. I was just wondering how flexible your office hours are."

Harp raised an eyebrow. "Depends on why you're asking."

The student in front of him nodded almost imperceptibly. "It's just I've got a class conflict, and my Jurisprudence professor isn't going to care if I'm late for a legitimate academic reason."

Juris-_what_, Harp thought, but the red head continued on before he could ask for clarification.

"I'm just really lost on noun cases, to be honest, and I was hoping to go over some of the readings to ensure I was understanding them properly."

Harp nodded slowly. Cases were a difficult concept for students who'd never encountered them in a language class before. English didn't even have them.

"But the ABA's got this restriction where you can't take your finals if you miss more than three classes."

"The ABA," Harp heard Roxas echo, his voice a question.

The student gave him a scrutinizing look. "Yeah. American Bar Association. I'm a law student, just auditing this class since I thought it might help me get a little ahead in my law classes."

Harp scoffed. "What, you mean with all of the 15 or so Latin words the court system uses nowadays?"

The law student's face reddened. "Okay, so it was a dumb idea…at least I got a cute teacher." The last words were muttered under the grad student's breath, just loudly enough for Harp to hear.

Harp felt a pleasant tingle make its way up his spine, and now it was his turn to blush. He cleared his throat, looking down at his planner as he pretended not to hear. "I can probably make arrangements, yeah. Just email me."

The student nodded, a smile teasing at the corners of his lips. "Cool."

He turned to go, but Harp called out at the last minute. "Sor-sorry, what's your name?" With 30 students and this being the first few weeks of classes, he hadn't memorized any names yet.

The red headed law student's smile merely widened. "Check your class list, _professor_. I'm guessing I'm the only law student enrolled."

And then with a wink — a sultry, suggestive _wink_ — Harp watched Axel leave, and Roxas bit his lip trying to calm a sudden assault of butterflies in his stomach.

—

His hands were tangled in red hair, gasping at teeth on his neck, fingernails raking his back. The only thing Harp could compare the way his body was currently feeling was to fire. His wings were gone — eyes were probably blue, for that matter, if he understood this dream at all — but Axel still paused to look over Harp's bare shoulder, sliding a teasing finger across a black mark Harp could only just make out from the corner of his own eye.

"A tattoo," Axel murmured, gaze redirecting to stare directly at the blond straddling his lap in front of him. Slowly, his knee lifted and he began to grind between Harp's legs. "Do you have any idea how hot that is for me, professor?"

Harp let out a low sound he didn't recognize as human language and found himself trying to push away without entirely committing to the action.

"W-we shouldn't, Axel. This could get me f-fired, or expelled from the Classics program," he gasped out. Harp noted how the words he spoke were not at all in line with his own willing body movements but found himself unable to do anything but go along for the ride, simply watching the dream play out, even while taking such a pivotal role in it himself.

Axel leaned forward, expression amused, teasing. "Unlikely," he said. "I dropped your class yesterday."

Harp's eyes widened, as did Axel's smirk. "You were right. It totally wasn't helping with my law classes. And cases are absolutely fucked up grammatical nonsense, no offense."

Beneath his many layers of self, Harp felt Roxas' willpower dissolve entirely, felt his body fall back forward to meet Axel's willing arms.

Then Harp was laughing breathlessly into the crook of Axel's shoulder. "I can't believe you…totally incorrigible."

Harp felt the grin against his lips in their next kiss more than saw it. "In veritate."

—

He was curled up, breathing in the very human scent of Axel. His human. His muse. A smile curled onto Harp's lips as he snuggled in.

The body beneath him shifted beneath the sheets, beneath Harp.

"Want more already, do you?" Axel's voice held a teasing quality to it and although he couldn't see the man's face, Harp knew the red-head was smiling.

Harp yawned, stretching lazily like a cat. "Maybe," he drew out the word as he slid lightly fluttering fingers down Axel's chest, to his abdomen and lower, snaking around his waist. "The question is," he said, voice low and husky, "can _you_ handle another round tonight?"

Axel's breath hitched, and Harp could feel Roxas' sense of satisfaction and …something else he couldn't identify. It was something that made his stomach twist pleasantly, that made this human's body tighten in places that seemed utterly peculiar to Harp.

Now it was Axel's turn to play over Harp's body with his hands. As his human's long, slender fingers moved downward, a delightful shiver of anticipation overtook Harp's physical body. Axel's fingers brushed over Harp's lap playfully, squeezing lightly, then moving away. Lips close to Harp's ear, Axel let his hot breath caress his lover's neck.

"Oh, I could go all night," he breathed, eliciting more shivers on Harp's part.

But then, surprisingly, Axel pulled away, strengthening his grip on his lover into a more platonic hug. "Then again," he said, his tone more normal than sultry now, "it _is_ only the first night. We've got another seven days."

Harp snorted. "Yeah. I'm still surprised your firm gave you enough time off to even _go_ on a honeymoon, given how hard they work you," he said. Not understanding the word that seemed most important of all, Harp listened intently for contextual clues.

Shifting a little underneath him, Axel's voice turned thoughtful. "Me too, actually. They work the junior associates so hard it's really pointless to even keep up the pretense of offering vacation time. I'll probably have to work a bit here too, just to warn. Billable hours, you know."

Roxas knew even if Harp didn't, and Harp found his head bobbing up and down in a light nod as he pulled himself slightly more upright to look down at Axel beneath him. "That's fine, just as long as you make sure to spend the rest of your free time with your new husband," he said pointedly.

The sides of Axel's lips curved upward just enough for Harp to notice them, although his expression remained mock serious. "Of course," he said, before breaking out into a wider, mischievous grin. "Whatever you say, _professor_."

Harp raised his arm to swat at Axel, but the red-head was too quick for him and grabbed the blond's smaller wrist in his own hand with ease. Harp struggled a little to free himself, finding a laugh bubble up out of his chest. "Oh, you!"

A moment later Axel released him and, losing his balance, Harp collapsed back onto his husband's bare chest, both of them dissolving in slaphappy giggles as he cuddled back into the nook of Axel's shoulder. Exhilarated.

Content.

_This time, Harp's eyes were able to adjust better to the dark scene before the lights overtook him into painful oblivion. They were traveling faster than Harp ever imagined humans could, Axel at the wheel of his sporty new car._

"_Shit," Axel muttered, an obvious scowl on his features. "Fuck this last minute bullshit the one time — **the one weekend** — I try to take off in months. I should just quit."_

"_Don't say that. You love your practice," Harp pointed out from his seat in the passenger side of the car, "and you love that firm." Nervously, he twisted the wedding band around his ring finger, a habit he'd begun in the early years of their marriage and had never quite managed to overcome._

"_Yeah, but that doesn't mean the senior partners can't be absolute shitheads about changing brief deadlines," Axel said, his voice tense. "I'm going to have to go 110 the whole fucking way to make it back on time now. _

_"And I've already **written** the damn thing," he burst out, smacking an open palm against his steering wheel in frustration, making Harp jump. "I did it before we left so we could actually relax this weekend."_

_Harp could feel the rising anxiety in the body he was inhabiting as the car swerved over the yellow line for the umpteenth time since they'd begun their journey. "Axel, don't you think you should slow down a…little?"_

_But Axel wasn't listening. "We had to leave early because of me!" he practically spat. "We hardly spend any time together, all because I've been chasing this ridiculous goal of becoming partner. That's not fair. **This** isn't fair."_

_Thus far, the roads had been relatively empty. Not surprising, given it was four in the morning. It had been blackness, simply trees from a New England forest, around them for hours now. As each hour passed, Axel seemed to become more and more frantic, determined to get back to the city before this arbitrary new deadline. _

_For the first real time since they'd left the main road, Harp noticed approaching lights._

"_Axel," he tried again. "Slow down a bit. They can't possibly blame you for turning it in a little bit late. You were out of town."_

_The red-head didn't slow. Instead, he turned to Harp, a look mixed with stress and exasperation that Harp was finding it difficult to train his eyes on as the lights of an approaching semi-truck got ever closer. "You don't understand," Axel said, his tone implying exactly what he thought of Harp's suggestion. "Courts have **deadlines**, Roxas. I can't just—"_

_But Harp wasn't looking at Axel anymore. As Roxas' head turned toward the oncoming lights, so too did Harp's, frozen in a dream he couldn't control. _

_Riding over yellow lines. Unable to fly with yellow wings, in this dream that had all so suddenly become a nightmare._

_This time on impact, Harp saw stars._

With a shudder, Harp cried out. Back home in Axel's apartment once more, the red-head woke with a start, fixing his eyes directly on the angel in front of him.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: Hi. Final chapter, ahoy. If you enjoyed this random little piece of fluff, please do comment and let me know. It was my first multi-chapter story in the KH fandom so, even if it's a little odd-ball compared to my other stuff, it'll always hold a special place in my heart (insert other sappy sentiments here).

I've considered an epilogue to this piece. I'm still considering it. We shall see if I ever actually get around to it.

Glossary of referenced terms:

1) "Sheket" (Hebrew, noun/command): "Quiet" or "Be quiet".

2) "Shalom alecha" (Hebrew, phrase, also greeting/farewell): "peace to/for you".

* * *

><p>The day of St. Peter's welcoming ceremony dawned bright and clear. Days like these always did.<p>

Amid the fuss and the noise of the musician's dressing chambers, a petite blond angel stood silently, brushing gold dust into his hair.

No expression. No feeling. Just a numb, numb sense that he'd been broken, and only one other person in the universe could understand.

A gentle hand dropped to one of his shoulders, causing Harp to look up. Above him, Sitar gave an encouraging smile. As with anything Sitar seemed to do, it was infused with good nature. The sly expression would come just a moment later.

"Ready for the big day?" Sitar asked, moving in alongside Harp to check his own appearance in a nearby mirror.

Sitar's words rushed past him before they'd even registered. Harp didn't respond.

For his part, Sitar glanced down, noted the stoic expression on the young angel's face. The only assumption he could make was that of nerves.

"This will be no different than any of Peter's other welcoming ceremonies, you know. The new arrivals will hardly notice we're above them," Sitar said, apparently trying to assuage any uncertainties Harp might have had. "Remember how their caretakers were joking last year that some thought music just played nonstop past Heaven's gates?" He grinned.

On any other day, Harp might have laughed, or at least smiled.

Not today though. Not after last night.

That's when Sitar tried a different, slyer tactic. He moved away from the mirror, standing behind Harp. Sitar was over a head taller and, with far broader shoulders and wings as well, his entire figure framed Harp's own in the mirror they were both now standing directly in front of. Sitar raised both hands to Harp's shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Someone told me a certain violist is using a certain harpist as her muse now and that it kept her from getting expelled."

The news caught Harp off-guard enough that his blank expression wavered, curiosity forming behind gold eyes as they began to focus for the first time that morning.

"What?"

Sitar grinned, knowing he'd successfully caught the younger angel's attention.

"Fourteenth Viola," he said, his voice back to its usual sing-song tone. "I hear tell from one of my fellow sitars that Viola thought of you during her evaluation."

Harp stared directly into Sitar's eyes via the mirror.

"So…she likes me?" His voice was soft, still holding the youthful tones of an angelic childhood that was not yet very far behind him.

Sitar shrugged. "Maybe," he said, ruffling his wings a little as he stretched out his arms and fingers. In Heaven there wasn't much of a concept of physical or emotional attraction among nameless angels, although at least some were aware of concepts such as 'like'. And 'love'. Actually acting on the feelings, however, was a privilege enjoyed by angels of higher stature alone. Those El had blessed with names and other privileges.

"It's more likely someone told her about muses and gave her a little…inspiration."

This time, Sitar did laugh, and it elicited an image in Harp's mind of someone else laughing, a human, as his face nuzzled into the crook of his lover's shoulder.

Taking a shuddering, unnecessary breath in, Harp's vision swam before him. He was going to break today, he just knew it. And then everyone would see. Everyone would know what he'd done…

A cherub approached them, fluttering about erratically near Harp's face.

"To Sorael!" it chirped almost anxiously. "I am to take you to the angel Sorael."

Harp didn't move until Sitar nudged him, the action gentle but firm.

"Go on then," he said. "Play us something we've never heard before, will you? These things can get tedious after awhile."

Before Harp could protest or even think to, the small angelic creature before him took hold of one arm, tugging urgently toward the dressing room's entrance. Sorael would not prepare here among common musicians. Even Harp knew that. He would have his own private quarters in which to dress and prepare.

Dodging and practically skipping over other frantically bustling angels in his path, Harp followed the cherub as best as he was able, across the dressing room and out into sunlit sky. Sorael's private dressing quarters were set up even higher for privacy among the clouds. While the inner layers were made of sturdy, thick material, the outer layers of these tents all billowed in Heaven's pleasant winds with colorful material as light as gauze. Each performing angel of this calibre had their own cloud, their own quarters. As the cherub led him forward, Harp looked on with a sense of awe.

The noises were soft, almost inaudible, but up here in the protective shelter of cloud cover, Harp could hear just well enough. A soft sound of surprise here. A contented sigh there. They reminded him of Axel, of Roxas. Of happiness.

He hadn't realized he was still approaching the structure until his cherub guide fluttered almost directly into his face. Harp jumped back a little, startled.

"You will wait!" the cherub said, its tone a shrill yet somehow still tentative order. Anxious, queer little things, cherubs were to Harp.

So, as the cherub made its way somewhat apprehensively into the confines of Sorael's dressing quarters, Harp waited. Harp remembered.

Almost at once, the entrance to the tent was flung open. To Harp's surprise, it was Rikuel, not the cherub or even Sorael, who stood on the other side. His expression still hard, Harp found it difficult to connect the severe looking choir director to the sounds of gentle intimacy he'd just overheard.

No words, just a scrutinizing expression, and Rikuel was gone, his raven wings spreading outward in an impressive span as he alighted.

When the cherub reappeared, it looked utterly panicked. "Go, go," it squeaked. "Not much time. Not much time at all!"

Then it too was gone, and Harp entered Sorael's quarters without further preamble.

The angel rose to greet him, expression delighted, cheeks rosy and flushed. Had Rikuel caused that, Harp wondered. If so, how could someone so hard and unyielding handle someone as sweet-natured as Sorael?

Harp bowed his head. "In peace, Sorael," he greeted the angel who looked so much like himself, who was blessed with so much more than he even dared to imagine. But the angel's arms were wrapped around him before Harp could even straighten, lips finding his mouth in a warm, brief welcome. This was a greeting among named angels, among equals. Eyes open wide in surprise, Harp stared back as Sorael released him.

"Just Sora, please. We are brothers now, of course." The boy's voice still held a childlike androgyny that Harp had not long ago grown out of himself. Sorael — or Sora now, perhaps — would remain like this forever, if he'd understood the angel's purpose for existing at all.

"Sora." Harp tried the shortened name on for size, marveling at its simplicity, at how he'd never have otherwise considered calling the angel anything other than his official title before now. Sora. Not El's Sky. Just Sky itself.

The brown haired angel looked him over, beckoned him forward toward his dressing mirror, and Harp complied in wordless fashion. With a careful hand, Sora brushed a light powdering of silver dust across Harp's cheeks before he'd managed to get his bearings at all.

Eyebrows furrowed, Sora scrutinized his work. "Better, except…" His tone was still uncertain until a moment later his expression lit up. "Close your eyes please, harpist. This should complete it."

Harp did as he was told, felt Sora's gentle fingers brush against one eyelid at a time. "Much better," Sora said, and Harp could already hear the smile in his voice. "You can open your eyes now again."

The figure that stared back at him from Sora's mirror was himself, of course, but altered, somehow brighter. The silver across his cheekbones made them stand out more sharply, adding a defining quality to their usual soft roundness. The gold on his eyelids accentuated the color of his actual eyes even more superbly. As Harp stared, his companion patted down his unruly hair just slightly to match his own brunet tresses.

"Perfect, right?" Sora clapped his hands a little, expression delighted. "We will impress them in every way this morning. Perhaps even El will find pleasure in our mixed medium."

Harp said nothing, simply swallowing hard and bowing his head deep in thought. El would not be present, he knew, but the Creator sensed everything, heard all sounds of Heaven and Earth, knew everyone's true heart without doubts. If true, El knew his heart even now, and how much it ached. El knew the lies he had told, the deception in which he had played such a pivotal part.

_Axel_…

A hand grasped his own. When Harp looked up, it was Sorael he saw though. Blue eyes instead of green. Brown hair, not red.

"Let's go then, harpist. We can set up early. Maybe even get a view of the arrivals before they cross the gates."

And Harp complied, allowing himself to be led off Sora's cloud, flying listlessly only a few wing beats behind. They arrived on another private cloud, prepared specifically for them. It was situated below where the other members of the orchestra would play, in full view of the arrivals as they passed into Heaven's realms.

_Roxas_…

Harp shook his head, as though denying it now would change anything back then.

_Your eyes_…

"Look there," Sorael pointed, seating himself into a comfortable position on the cloud assigned to them.

Harp looked, and saw the myriad wingless masses below them, just beyond Heaven's gates. Humans. His mouth opened a little in awe. From his vantage point last year, he hadn't been able to see anything other than his own fellow musicians.

Sora settled into the cloud, shifting onto his stomach, small bare feet flexing in the air a little above him before he hooked one foot behind his other ankle comfortably. "They're just so interesting, humans," he said, his high voice now a wistful sigh.

Harp couldn't disagree, but found himself stuck on one human in particular. In the end, his thoughts always returned to Axel.

"I know Riku thinks very little of them," Sora continued, "but they're just so fascinating, with their free choices and all the dramas. Just, everything. They make Heaven seem so dull at times."

Sora lapsed into silence, and Harp followed suit, content simply to look at the seemingly unending numbers of recently departed milling around below them. Some were speaking with one another. Others were simply looking around in wonder with open, expectant expressions. It was the ones who stood still, faces blank, and eyes haunted that attracted Harp's attention the most though. Although they looked nothing physically like his Axel, there was something familiar in their hollow expressions.

_Sometimes humans bring their troubles with them after death_, Sitar had once explained to Harp. _Sometimes they don't even yet realize they've died, isn't that fun?_ Harp had agreed at the time, an amused smile on his face. Now, he honestly couldn't be so sure it was funny in the least.

His eyes were trained on a small group of somber looking humans who seemed to have gravitated to one another in their own unknowable miseries, when the crowd shifted slightly, and wild, messy blond hair came into view. Harp knew that hair, and he knew the face it was attached to. Unconsciously, he felt his body begin to quiver, despite the cloud's comforting embrace.

~ o ~ o ~

Unseeing green eyes had regained their focus in a split second as Harp felt a cold trickle of terror run down his own spine. Mouth open slightly, eyes wide with fear, his wings spread and he lifted off to flee for his safe place, his home. Where voices were never raised in anguished shrieks, and blond hair was never matted with crimson blood.

Axel's screams had been terrible, the way Harp just knew they were tearing his throat raw as he had struggled to reach the unmoving blond in the seat beside him. Even after Harp had been pulled free from the dream, the overwhelming sound of it all still rang in his ears, the indescribable feeling of panic and physical pain making his body tremble uncontrollably.

He would have left it all, returned to Heaven where he belonged — if not for Axel's quick motion, hands closing over Harp's wrists. For a moment, Harp struggled, wings thrashing, almost pulling the red-haired human entirely out of his seat as Axel fought to keep his grasp on the panicking angel.

Although more physically compact, Harp was stronger, could have broken free and perhaps even caused Axel harm with his frantic movements, if not for the soft words that followed.

"Please," Axel said, with neither volume nor force. It sounded simply like the plea of someone who had lost everything, of someone who was drowning in emotions too deep to ever surface from again. "Please stay," Axel said, and Harp's body reacted, calmed immediately, even as his mind remained a storm of fear and overstimulation at everything he'd just witnessed.

The thrashing, jerky movements of his wings stilled as Harp drifted back toward the floor in an almost defeated manner, and Axel wasted no time pulling him closer. In one smooth motion, one hand still clasping onto Harp's wrist as though he was afraid to let go, Axel reached for Harp's waist. Long, slender fingers touched the fabric of Harp's thin robe near his stomach, then snaked around gently to his side.

With a determined look, Axel pulled Harp in, back over him onto the chair he'd just been sleeping in. He released Harp's wrist in favor of a full-out hug, both arms wrapping almost longingly around Harp's thin waist. Before he knew it, Harp was kneeling, legs between Axel's, as he stared up into wondering green eyes.

"…Roxas?"

_No_, Harp wanted to explain. _Not Roxas. Not human, but I still want to be important…to you_.

One word. One simple word so painful to hear coming out in such an anguished tone. Harp found himself doing just the opposite of denying, nodding tentatively instead in the affirmative.

_Yes, Roxas. I can be Roxas for you. For now…_

The tension in Axel's shoulders seemed to release entirely as the human drew in a breath, pulling Harp closer to him as well.

Before the young angel knew what was happening, Axel's lips were on him, tender and longing, his tears smearing against Harp's cheek as the kiss intensified. And Harp found himself returning the kiss, his first in a world not made up of dreams and painful memories.

Kissing wasn't just about the lips, Harp came to learn, for as Axel pressed him closer, his fingers slid upwards, from Harp's waist to his back, all the way to the curve of his shoulder blades, where Harp's wings originated. With trembling fingers, Axel traced their feathered base, making them twitch a little in a pleasurable way with every passing caress.

The kiss ended as Axel moved to Harp's cheek one more, tears mingling with a light dusting of gold on the young angel's face.

"Roxas…" This time the word was said with a reverence Harp had only ever heard spoken in relation to the Almighty himself. And yet this human was saying it about the one he loved. The one he had lost. It set off a sharp fluttering in Harp's stomach that, try as he might, he couldn't quite succeed in calming.

Then Axel's body was wracked with tremors of an entirely different nature as he curled inward, head resting against Harp's own small chest.

"I'm sorry. It was all my fault." His voice was muffled within the folds of Harp's robe, making the angel strain to hear every anguished word. "Making partner wasn't worth it. Losing _you_ wasn't worth it."

Again, the image of Roxas formed in Axel's mind and materialized a moment later across Harp's vision too as their physical connection deepened through emotional ties. Blond hair, pale, bloodied skin, blue eyes that would never open again. The last Axel had seen of his husband was a limp, bleeding form, twisted within the frame of his ruined sports car at an unnatural angle as a rescue team worked to cut the metal off of and out of the red head's own trapped legs.

"Shh," Harp intoned, his voice low, arms encircling the openly distressed human. _Sheket…shalom alecha_.

At that moment, in that mundane space, Harp innately knew that if only he'd been blessed with free will, he would never leave Axel alone again.

~ o ~ o ~

"The orchestra is arriving," Sora exclaimed, abruptly pulling Harp from his thoughts. "We should set up."

With a silent nod, Harp rose numbly to his feet, eyes still never straying from the place blond hair had attracted them to in the first place, mind still more on his Axel on Earth than his impending performance in the clouds.

He had lied, lied to his muse about his own identity, and Harp wasn't convinced the ends of providing Axel with the only comfort he knew how justified the means of doing so in the slightest. But Axel had been so willing to believe, and Harp had been so eager to offer solace. What else could he have done?

_Roxas, your eyes…_

Axel had called them beautiful, had slid tentative hands over Harp's wings, probably the most sensitive area of the angel's small body, with an expression of wonder on his face. For centuries to come, Harp would relish that moment, keeping it selfishly to himself and returning to it whenever he needed to remind himself that once, for even just a little while, he had been loved.

_Roxas, those wings…my God._

"Someone is waving to you, harpist," Sora said, his childlike voice a sharp contrast to the voice Harp had just been replaying in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Tearing his eyes away from the humans for the first time since he'd spotted that one in particular, Harp looked up, saw Sitar smiling on back. The older angel put his hands to his lips, blew Harp a good luck wish, and retreated back into the angelic masses in short order.

_You've been here all this time, watching over me…I knew I felt it._

Harp blinked, vision suddenly blurred. A gentle hand on one arm turned him back as Sorael brushed his high cheekbone with one tender hand.

"We're about to begin, brother. The orchestra will follow after our first piece, of course." Sora was looking at him questioningly, a softly concerned expression gracing his own youthful features. Harp was quick to nod, move toward the chair provided for him, and summon his instrument.

_Stay with me…please don't leave. Just for tonight._

And Harp had complied, curling up in Axel's lap, his wings forming a feathered shelter above them both. For one night, he had stayed. For one night, he'd been human enough to be loved, even though deep in his heart he'd known it was an imperfect deception, perhaps even an affront to Creator himself. He'd pretended to be something, someone, he was not.

Rikuel appeared before them, great raven wings remaining extended even upon landing. The look he gave Harp was as severe as always, but it hardly registered with the stunned musician before him anymore. It was momentary at best anyway, as the choir director turned his attention to his pupil, drawing Sora's eyes to him almost immediately. Harp now very easily recognized the look of adoration on the young singer's face.

_I love you, Roxas. Always…just please forgive me._

Maybe it was possible. Maybe angels could love too. Through blurred vision and overwhelming memories of his time with Axel on Earth, Harp truly did want to believe.

And then Rikuel's arms rose and a most lovely, jubilant voice rang out by his side. Below them, an overwhelming amount of heads were raised, eyes opening wide, in awe at the sound. Almost immediately, Harp focused on one set in particular, on cerulean blue that looked somehow out of place without those of sharp green by their side.

_No, Axel_, Harp thought, eyes locked on the young blond's gaze below him. _It's I who needs to ask for forgiveness…and one day you'll know why._

Sitting, tears running down his immortally youthful face for the first time in his existence, eyes never looking away from the one who'd been the subject of Axel's affections even after death in a way he never could be, Harp steadied his hands, took a breath in, and began to play.


End file.
